


A Taste

by laughingmilk



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: Emetophilia, Fango's a freak, Footjob, M/M, Maggots, Masochism, Restraints, Sadism, Serpente's a closet sadist and he doesnt even know it, Stuffing, Unsanitary, You can interpret it as cannibalism, blowjob, feederism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 00:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8035921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingmilk/pseuds/laughingmilk
Summary: A DISCLAIMER: This is my first time writing smut, stuffing, this pairing in smut and this length of a fic. I apologize for any OOcness or grammar/spelling errors but I also hope you enjoy what I've thought of! Warning beforehand; Not for the easily squicked, involves some unsanitary elements, is 100% consensual btw





	A Taste

Serpente tells himself - He doesn't know how this started. He knows that is a lie. He tells himself that this is wrong. He knows that. He keeps going anyway.  
  
He knows, whether he'd admit it or not, that it started with a look. A grin, a wink, a proposition and now he stood squarely, looking down at a man he'd known for years. Fango was always grinning. Smirking, really. Thick ropes that he had struggled to pull tightly bound the blond's hands behind his back. They made eye contact and Serpente's eyebrows further furrowed.  
  
_'It's simple.' Fango's rough voice would come, drawling on, 'You can do it, Serpente. I know you've got in it you.'_ __  
  
He'd like to lament over those words for days if he could, but the musty room that wasn't theirs to begin with had started to stuff up and he knew that Fango, too, was waiting.  
  
Over on the only table in the room sat a tray. A tray that, under any normal circumstances, would have no business being touched with intended consumption. Serpente dug a spoon into said tray and scooped up a heaping mass of all that. It was clumpy and only semi-solid, globs of the thick ichor-like substance dripping back to join that in the tray. Rotten meat, viscous blood and fat that was already more like slime. Serpente felt light-headed if he looked at it for too long. He wasn't even the one eating it.

He almost stops right there. They have a safe action, a firm shake of the head, there was no danger. Both men consented. He knew how hardy Fango was as well. He hesitates still.

"Go on." He feels Fango nudge him, with his chin, and swallows the knot that had formed in his throat.

With a shaking hand he fed the first spoon. Fango barely gagged, he almost seemed used to it. The next spoon, and the next. Serpente would occasionally catch one or two little white objects wriggle in the tray. He didn't acknowledge them.

It was almost sick how he kind of liked this. Fango ate - beautifully. The younger man really did. He would open his mouth just enough to let the rotten mass push past his lips. Lips that, were surprisingly not cracked. Onto a pink, wet tongue that was pressed back down to allow for the spoon's entry. The first few spoons proved easy, but it was when they got to the halfway mark that Serpente saw his boss' face change.

He looked slightly queasier, his breathing slower, harder. Blond locks stuck to his face by a thin layer of sweat and his eyes looked a bit more distant. Serpente, too, didn't notice how he had gotten used to feeding. He fed faster now with more practice. For once, Fango couldn't keep up.

He could almost swear, the man was panting.

"Serpente." A laboured call, between shallow gasps. "I feel full." He responded without thinking.

"How do you feel?" He didn't know why, but he wanted to know.

" _Full_." He responded, a low, barely-there grunt. "So full I could burst." He made a face like he could gag, throw everything up right there and then. "I can feel them moving..."

Maggots, thousands of tiny worms wriggling around in his gut, his throat, his mouth. He could feel them even if the rest of his body was numbed. He could feel that aching pain of a bloated stomach, and that rancid rotten taste on his tongue, in his nose.

"Serpe-" Metal rose to his lips. He stared for a moment. In shock from the interruption, maybe. Fango looked up into Serpente's gaze, seeing now not hesitation or disgust, but something like a fire. A hot fire that wanted to burn him - And he didn't mind it one bit.

He took in the spoon after a moment's consideration. His body's senses did not seem as numb as before, but still not as alert. What he knew though, was the mixture tasted suddenly worse than before, his gag reflex was on edge, and somewhere along the way he had gotten hard. Looking up, it seems that last part was mutual.

The food stayed there in his mouth. He couldn't bring himself to swallow, nor let go of the spoon. He felt Serpente tug.

"Swallow."

He didn't let go.

"Swallow, _pig_."

The food went down for a moment only to spring back up as he finally gave in. He gagged, hard, and felt a sourness swell up in his nasal cavity for but a second before an onslaught of semi-digested meat, acid, and maggots flooded forth. He couldn't stop it - It just came, one wave after another, his body jerking forward involuntarily as he choked up the last of the rancid mixture. Even after that he heaved. His throat was dry, but still left tainted by the sharp taste of bile. There was nothing left.

He saw that on the floor before him, on his white dress shirt. Serpente saw it leaking out of his nose and smeared on his lips, clumps in his hair. He saw Fango's glossy eyes, rolled back, tired, and the tears that rode down his cheeks. He saw that blissed out, vulnerable look and jaw agape.

Serpente tells himself - he does this because Fango likes it, and he would want Fango to be happy. He knows that is a dirty, dirty lie. He knows now, at least. He loves it too, and of course it was Fango who'd bring out the worst - or was it the best? - in him.

Part of him definitely wanted to carry on. He knew that Fango was always up for more, even when he didn't look it. It was years of being around the man that made him realise that he had yet to reach the limit. He wasn't sure if Fango even had a limit. Fango loved to test Serpente's limits. He still had his head lolled back, blankly staring straight ahead. Now he felt empty, filthy and warm and sticky. It felt like the kind of wrong that was just right. He felt filthy. It felt, just, right.

Somewhere along the way, Serpente's foot had found its way in between his legs to meet with his straining erection - Something he barely noticed he'd gotten in this whole ordeal. He didn't look down.

Something prodded at his lips. No, it wasn't the spoon this time, it felt warm - not metallic. Fango's eyes scrambled to refocus themselves. Serpente's length was right in his face. Almost as if in a trance, he felt himself take it in without a word. Still slack-jawed from the vomiting the blowjob was sloppy, lazy and messy at best. He was more like an old dog trying to slobber its owner. Still, he took more and more in, until he felt it on the back of his tongue. Right where it was still sensitive - He lurched.

The thick length slid into his throat as he dry heaved around it, walls convulsing and squeezing and _god_ , Serpente thought, _it felt and looked like heaven._ Tears had sprung to the younger man's stained face once again, his expression contorted into that of discomfort, but a cherry red hue was upon his features. Serpente continued to rub his foot up against Fango's erection, near-stepping on it through the layer of cloth there.

Fango would come first, too. Overstimulation put him on edge and Serpente could feel it in how his body tensed up, trembling in release. The telltale white stained his pair of pants, and Serpente was quick to follow.

The white substance shot itself down into Fango's throat, where it was pushed back up and overflowed around the cock still in Fango's mouth. Serpente could no longer tell what liquid came from where. Was it the vomit, the tears, the snot, or the cum? They seemed to be indistinguishable.

They did stay like that for a while, soaking in the afterglow of it all and coming down from their highs. Fango coughed once, breaking the silence first. His throat was hoarse and voice rough, rougher than usual, but still had that playful intonation to it.

'You always had it in you, huh?' 

If Serpente could, he'd lament those words for hours on end, but that would come later, after he untied his boss and brought him home to clean up.


End file.
